


Wabi-sabi - Part One

by helliongoddess



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Fragility, M/M, Slice of Life, wabi-sabi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-22
Updated: 2010-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helliongoddess/pseuds/helliongoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gojyo is having "issues" with Sanzo, but he's not quite sure why.  Something to do with hot horseradish balls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wabi-sabi - Part One

WABI-SABI - PART ONE

I.  
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From Wikipedia:

Wabi-sabi (侘寂) represents a comprehensive Japanese world view or aesthetic centered on the acceptance of transience. The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of beauty that is "imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete".[1] It is a concept derived from the Buddhist assertion of the Three Marks of Existence (三法印 sanbōin), specifically impermanence (無常 mujō).   
___________________________________

The Bodhisattva of Compassion leaned heavily on her elbows as she surveyed her large reflecting pool, the pale ivory lotuses glimmering as they floated on the dark cobalt water in the waning daylight. She shivered slightly as her nipples pressed against the cold granite railing through the gossamer silk of her gown, and frowned as she trailed a finger down to reach a nearby flower but found it just beyond her reach.

"Doesn't it bother you terribly, Jiroushin?" she asked listlessly.

"What would that be, Merciful Goddess?" her faithful factotum asked cautiously.

"These goddamned lotuses… I mean, look at them. They're just so fucking… perfect, day in, day out. They never change, never so much as lose a petal. They just… stay like this." She rose and stood to face him, a small line of frustration creasing her forehead.

Jiroushin swallowed and steeled himself as he reached up and smoothed out the tiny crease very gently with his thumb. The smallest hint of a smile tugged at his usually-severe features.

"No, my Goddess. Living with perfection every day is something I have come to relish: I consider it my primary compensation for my numerous responsibilities here in the Imperial Palace."

Kanzeon Bosatsu seized his thumb and bit it impishly and kissed it.

"Good answer," she smiled.

 

 

II.  
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"Characteristics of the wabi-sabi aesthetic include asymmetry, asperity, simplicity, modesty, intimacy, and the suggestion of natural processes. Wabi-sabi is the most conspicuous and characteristic feature of traditional Japanese beauty and it occupies roughly the same position in the Japanese pantheon of aesthetic values as do the Greek ideals of beauty and perfection in the West. If an object or expression can bring about, within us, a sense of serene melancholy and a spiritual longing, then that object could be said to be wabi-sabi. "  
_____________________________

 

Gojyo didn't really know why he hadn't gone home with that blonde that had pressed her big soft promising breasts against him so enticingly and given him so many less-than-subtle encouragements to join her: she had made it abundantly clear if he had followed her out of the bar, it would have meant a free amusement park ride for two that wouldn't have ended until dawn.

And it wasn't like Gojyo had been laid all that much recently, either: quite the contrary. For some reason, he had found himself either flat turning down all the easy opportunities, or – worse yet – striking out with women when he did try by sabotaging himself with dumb mistakes. It had been that way for several months now: other than the occasional furtive wank here and there, it had been a long dry spell, leaving the erogappa very frustrated, and even more confused.

He had wanted badly to talk to Hakkai about it, and had even tried to bring it up a couple of times, but there was something about that terse, cryptic smile and those absinthe-green eyes that made the words curdle in Gojyo's throat. He knew all three of the others sensed something strange was going on with him, a reversal of fortunes in his usually-legendary love life – even the goddamn kid had razzed him a few times about "losing his touch" - and Sanzo, well…. Sanzo… that really was the crux of the whole fucking (or not fucking) problem right there, wasn't it?

Stupid thing was, as Gojyo's love life had declined, he had been getting along with Sanzo worse and worse for some reason: by the time they had arrived that night it had devolved into all-out balls-to-the-wall warfare between them.   
It had started innocently enough: Gojyo had just felt, for no particular reason, maybe just bored, like having a little more fun with the prissy priest, so he'd just ramped up the teasing a bit, kind of up-scaled and amped up the usual sexual innuendo and banter, just trying to get a little further under the monk's pale cherry-chan skin. All in good fun, right? But nooooo, Sanzo had to be a real asshat about it, zero sense of humor, even less than usual for some reason, and it had royally pissed Gojyo off, which of course had led to him riding Sanzo even harder.

It had escalated from there. Gojyo knew he was probably being childish; he also knew he was risking sudden death by Smith & Wesson every time he poked that particular silk-clad bear in that particular fashion – god knows, Sanzo had told him as much enough times, a few times with his hands wrapped around Gojyo's throat, or said S&W pointed directly at the hanyou's temple. But it was like that old thing about the irresistible force and the immovable object, or whatever it was – the prissier the priest got, the more inexorably Gojyo was driven to razz him with increasingly risqué innuendo.

Of course, Hakkai shot the persistent kappa lots of scathing glances in the rearview mirror, and even the monkey tried to warn him, elbowing him in the ribs, raising his eyebrows and mugging towards Sanzo with his eyes bugged out, one time even saying, "ix-nay on easing-tay Anzo-say!" between clenched teeth. And of course, Sanzo's steely eyes observed every one of these attempted warnings and darkened like stormclouds, as the warnings only served to make him mad at the others for becoming involved, and even more furious at Gojyo for persevering in his one-man death-by-heckling campaign.

By the time they finally made it to their stopover that night, a glowering aura of deadly silence had enveloped the jeep and its occupants, except for the occasional residual serve-and- volley of reflex innuendo and ensuing gunshot between the monk and kappa, and fitful nervous kyuus from jippu itself, whose nerves had apparently been affected by the nearly-constant gunfire and sniping within the vehicle.

As they parked in front of the inn there was a decided lack of the tired-but-happy chatter that usually accompanied their offloading routine. Hakkai was terse, fretful, and all-business, and Goku was too tired and anxious to even ask about food, which was almost spooky. Gojyo knew it was his pretty much all fault, and suddenly he felt like an immature out-of-control fool, a genuine fourteen-carat ass. He didn't know why, but it was clear he was really just fucking losing it – and over Sanzo, for god's sake, and it had to stop. His primary immediate goals became to get to the nearest bar, drink himself stupid, find the first receptive female, and fuck himself into oblivion. He'd sort out the finer details of life with the other three in the jeep later. As he followed his unhappy group into the Inn, his shoulders sagging, he consoled himself: at least he had a plan.

 

III.

__________________________________  
"From an engineering or design point of view, "wabi" may be interpreted as the imperfect quality of any object, due to inevitable limitations in design and construction/manufacture especially with respect to unpredictable or changing usage conditions; then "sabi" could be interpreted as the aspect of imperfect reliability, or limited mortality of any object, hence the etymological connection with the Japanese word sabi, to rust."  
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The usual pre-dinner fight for the shower ensued. They were all crowded into one room, the girl at the desk having told them that there was a second room available, if the gentlemen would be so kind as to wait until after dinner while it was being vacated and prepared for them. Hakkai settled the shower issue by decreeing an order based on Sanzo's demand for a haircut. He would go first, then Sanzo, then Goku and Gojyo could shower while he was cutting the monk's tresses.

Gojyo played a few listless hands of Hearts with the monkey while the other two showered, suddenly switching over to an aggressive game of War when the monk emerged, rubbing his damp hair irritably with a small towel, clad only in low-slung jeans, his chest and belly still flushed and glistening from the heat of his shower. Gojyo kicked Goku savagely under the table when the kid bitched about how hard he had smacked his hand as he showered down his cards on the table.

He hadn't meant to hit him, really, but it was all he could do to keep his eyes on the table and away from the scowling priest's glistening body as Hakkai started to work on him. There was something about the combination of Sanzo, with that much bare, wet skin showing, immobilized, and at the mercy of Hakkai's long slender fingers as he wielded the comb and scissors, that was intensely- and dangerously - erotic to Gojyo. He swallowed hard against the dry knot in his throat as he snuck glances from under his lowered lashes, and wondered if the room felt as hot and close to everyone else as it did to him at that moment, and considered how much of his soul he would sell for a cold beer.

What made it so much worse was that he could tell goddamn Sanzo was enjoying it, in spite of himself. Every once in a while, as Hakkai ran the comb over his damp scalp, Sanzo's eyelids would flutter closed and Gojyo would see tiny shivers run through him and gooseflesh would rise up on Sanzo's arms. When he noticed Sanzo's nipples rise and harden, Gojyo was grateful for the small grubby table between himself and Goku. He crossed his legs anyway, trying to find some measure of relief for the sudden crowding he felt in the crotch of his jeans, and suppressed a sudden need to sigh and yawn at the same time.

"Gojyo, what the hell? Are we playing or not?"

"Not," Gojyo said irritably, slamming his hand of cards on the table into the main pile. "Your turn, monkey. Go take your shower. You smell like Gyumaoh's armpit hair."

Goku opened his mouth to protest, but Hakkai shooed him off, reminding him that the sooner everyone's showers were completed, the sooner he got to eat.

As Goku finally began his shower, Hakkai smiled. "As much as he has matured lately, in so many ways, his lackluster hygiene seems to be one of the last vestiges of his childhood he refuses to surrender."

"Yeah, he takes that 'made from the earth' thing a little too seriously," Gojyo quipped, stretching and stealing a long furtive look at the priest as he leaned back.

"Monkeys will be monkeys," Sanzo said dryly, his eyes still closed. "He'll figure it out if he ever wants a girlfriend – or a boyfriend, for that matter."

Gojyo's eyebrows shot up. His eyes met Hakkai's, which glittered with amusement as he paused slightly before continuing his cutting.

"My, my, Sanzo, you've never let your hair get this long before. You could almost have worn it in a queue down your back." Hakkai fingered the length of sun-shot gold flowing over the towel in the back, pulling it together and running his hands through it as he prepared to cut it off.

Sanzo flinched, emitting a soft "uhnn," as if Hakkai's words had been a tiny, well-aimed body blow. "Just cut the shit off," he said sharply, recovering quickly. "I don't need anything artistic, I just need it the fuck out of my way."

As Hakkai and Gojyo's eyes met again, over Sanzo's bowed head this time, confusion and a small spark of concern for the monk passed between them.

"Of course, Sanzo," Hakkai said softly. "I shall be done shortly."

The concept of Sanzo having any kind of a vulnerable side was a double-edged sword for Gojyo. He appreciated anything that took their leader down from his ivory tower and made him more human, anything that gave the mysterious man a past, anything that put a chink in the chinkless wall. Such happenings enticed Gojyo like a siren's song, and he hoarded those rare occasions in his mind like little treasures, each one adding to his faint glimmers of understanding of the enigma that was Genjyo Sanzo, and each one deepening his unholy fascination.

But the unfortunate reverse of it was that the more Gojyo was able to see Sanzo as human, it was if it pulled back some kind of protective curtain: despite the scarlet mark on his forehead, Sanzo was not cloaked in some kind of mythic, impermeable, Buddha-with-a-gun cloak that would render him forever impervious to youkai knives and enemy bombs. The fact that their everyday lives included magic sutras and weapons that could be called up out of thin air sometimes made it too easy to forget that death was always riding on their shoulders. Sanzo by his very nature seemed to be the most supernatural one among them, but in truth he was the most human, and being human meant, failing another miraculous intervention by that statuesque broad that had sucked the blood out of Gojyo, Sanzo could die. As in, dead. Gone from their lives – his life – forever. And that was something Gojyo was having a more and more difficult time wrapping his head around these days, especially given the ever-escalating danger of the Mission, and Sanzo's cavalier attitude towards his own personal safety.

Sanzo was brushing away the mirror Hakkai was holding up to him just as Goku came bounding out of the steamy bathroom and began tugging on fresh clothes.

"Gosh, Sanzo, I had forgotten what you looked like: now you're lookin' like you again!" the boy babbled as he pulled on his boots, "can we puh-leeeze go eat now? I've rilly been patient, guys…" he wheedled, clutching his caved-in stomach.

Sanzo rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette as Hakkai laughed. "Yes, Goku, I admit, you have been rather patient, for you. But Gojyo still…"

Gojyo waved him off. "No, 'salright. You guys go on. I'll take a quick shower and meet you down there." He leaned back in his chair and stuck his socked foot into Goku's gut, shoving him backwards gently. "You can see he's wasting away. You'd better go."

Sanzo paused for a short moment and raised an eyebrow at Gojyo, turned wordlessly and threw on a shirt, and he and Goku were on their way out the door. Hakkai eyed Gojyo warily. "Are you sure?"

"Hell, yeah," Gojyo nodded. "Go, before Sanzo gets a wild hair and hijacks jippu just so he can ditch me."  
Hakkai sighed. "Fine," he eyed the remains of the haircut littering the floor and frowned, "I'll tend to this mess when we return." He touched his friend on the shoulder as he passed, "enjoy the shower," he said, still looking slightly worried.

"Go,'mother.'" He shoved his friend toward the door and pushed him out.

As he rummaged in his bag for clean clothes, his eye fell on the pile of scraps of Sanzo's hair scattered across the floor by his feet. Seeing big hunks of it detached from the priest's body caused a hard cold lump to form deep in Gojyo's empty stomach for some reason – it was as if he had found an amputated limb, clothed in the familiar fingerless glove and ring.

He retrieved the longest thickest lock and sat down on the edge of the bed, turning it in his hand in the mottled amber light of the waning sunset as it filtered through the half-open blinds. As the hair passed through the beams of sunlight it would almost appear to catch fire, blazing such a brilliant white-gold, Gojyo almost expected to feel the warmth radiating from it into the tips of his fingers, or to see the heat from it distorting the air around it in waves. But when out of the light it became a cold dead thing again, and Gojyo could barely stand to look at it.

Only once, and he felt idiotic when - knowing full-well he was alone - he first glanced around the room nervously to make sure he was unobserved, did he allow himself to stroke the lock slowly and luxuriously against his cheek. It wasn't like he could have stopped himself if he had tried. The desire to smell it alone was too strong to fight. He closed his eyes. His brain began to short-circuit, and not just because a substantial amount of his blood was now occupied elsewhere. The feel of the stranded silk against his cheek, and the smell of Sanzo's freshly-washed hair (he knew it well, after all those months – years! – of traveling together) overwhelmed him. Those two sensations alone – no need for sight, sound, taste… hell, he could even forego sex - just the combined effect of that sensation and that smell were enough to constitute Gojyo's definition of heaven at that very moment: he could spend eternity alone with that sensation and that scent, and that would be enough.

He realized with a jolt that he was getting into dangerous territory, and mentally slapped himself out of it with a jolt. He moved to drop the lock back to the floor with the rest of the hair, but it was as if it was glued to his hand: he couldn't bring himself to let go of it. In the back of his mind flitted a long-buried whisper of a memory: a tiny hanyou boy, burying his face and his tiny hands in a sea of a woman's soft hair, fragrant and warm and safe, a woman whose face he couldn't even remember, before the little boy's world had all become filled with confusion and pain and loss. He twirled the lock in his fingers and considered all the bullets that had just missed Sanzo's head, the blades that had just missed his heart…

Early in life Gojyo had learned hard lessons about fragility and loss, as had Sanzo. He'd heard Sanzo give his "muichimotsu" speech a dozen times, but he wasn't quite as good at the whole nonattachment thing as Sanzo was. Sanzo lived as if neither life nor death mattered. Gojyo lived as if both life and death mattered. Including, apparently, Sanzo's.

He tucked the shiny gold lock between the wall and the lining of his shaving kit, shrugged, and grabbed his clothes and headed off to the shower.

~TBC~


End file.
